The Ebony Blade
by Big Plot Fanatic
Summary: Four years prior to Galcian's defection. Gilder finds himself pursued by an indebted bounty hunter, but there's more to it than simple business. Both men are being played. SoA (c) Overworks.
1. Default Chapter

The Ebony Blade - A tale of Arcadia.  
  
Chapter One: A Thorn in the Side  
  
The three men sat at the table aboard Captain Serron's ship, the Red Arrow, none of them looking at all comfortable in each other's presence. The lounge was the kind only the rich could afford. Yafutoman silks, oak furniture with leather covers and stained glass windows were a few of the many things in the hall-sized lounge. At least two dozen card tables stretched from one end of the room to the other, each one a host to gamblers from colourful backgrounds who favoured their chances at the games. Chips were thrown down, money was changed and cards were flicked. The sounds of men laughing, men cursing their luck and cheers from onlookers filled the lounge almost as much as the smoke from the pipes and cigars. But amidst this seemingly jolly atmosphere the three men sat, mute and inanimate. No cards were on the round, shining oak table, just the crystal glasses of loqua on their coasters.  
These men were as well-dressed as all the others in the room. Their suits of black and white, along with the rather impressive top hats reflected their status as rich men. Had they been talking or playing cards, they would have fit in perfectly with the rest of the crowd. The man nearest to the lounge's bar took off his hat and wiped the sweat from his forehead, smoothing back his long blonde hair as he did so. The Nasrean weather was brutal for a Valuan, even at this time of night when it was cooler. The blonde-haired man looked with his soft grey eyes to his compatriot, who sat on the other side of the circular table. His compatriot, a man about his age with greying hair and wrinkled skin, shrugged wearily. They were waiting for somebody. The man sitting in between them didn't seem to mind the heat. He was sitting perfectly still, playing with four gambling chips in his hand and wondering when the fourth man was going to show up. He looked at the two men, his brown eyes assessing how much quicker they could reach for their pistols and shoot before he could. Clever for them to sit at opposite sides of the table; there was no way he could kill both of them without being shot himself.  
"Your boss has poor judgement of time." He smiled sardonically at the man to his right, the blonde man. "What's the matter, are you too hot?"  
Provocation was the last thing the assassin resorted to, but he was bored and he wanted some form of entertainment other than inhaling smoke. Fiddling with the gambling chips had provided all the fun that it could.  
"Can you imagine," the assassin spoke up cheerfully again, "that if you'd stayed in Valua, then round about now you'd be having a wonderful ice- cold drink in one of the Upper City loqua bars? It's a shame you have to be out here in the middle of Nasrean airspace."  
He looked at the blonde man, whose eyes were fixed on the table top. Oh yes, he was getting there...a few more remarks and one or two insults, then the party would begin.  
"- Gentlemen," a familiar-toned voice spoke from the assassin's left, "sorry to have kept you waiting."  
The dark-haired bodyguard moved his chair so his boss could have a seat next to the assassin. The boss was a tall man of slender build, with long grey hair down to his shoulders and hazel-green eyes. The hair was tied back in a tight ponytail tonight, but the assassin didn't bother noting that. He was more interested in the boss' nose. It was an ugly thing, completely out of proportion with the rest of the boss' face in that it was too big. Such ugliness was rare; it fascinated rather than repelled. The assassin forced himself to smile at the boss as he took his seat beside him. The boss was dressed in the same manner as they were; black suit, shining black shoes. The only thing missing was the top hat.  
"Mr. Archer," the boss spoke to the assassin in that haughty Valuan tone, "it was so good of you to come aboard my ship, the Red Arrow. You flatter me with your presence."  
The assassin called Archer simply looked at his host, neither returning the polite greeting nor ignoring it.  
"Did I have a choice?" He asked.  
"Oh, but of course you did, Mr. Archer. You could have come here to see me or been killed. Personally, I think you made the wiser of the two choices available. Now, what will you have to drink, hmm? I trust you are thirsty?"  
"If I wanted to poison myself I'd ask for some bread in Lower City Valua." Archer said coldly. "Can you tell me why your baboons dragged me here?"  
The boss smiled at the remark and helped himself to one of his bodyguard's drinks, not bothering to ask if he could. The black-haired bodyguard glanced at his boss for an instant before averting his gaze back to the assassin. Archer had never seen a man more desperate for a fight than that one before, he was just begging for it with those eyes of his. Like daggers, they were.  
"Simply put, Mr. Archer, I have two problems." The boss spoke again, having finished the bodyguard's glass of loqua. "One of those problems is you. You owe me some money for your gambling. The other problem is a man, an air pirate to be more precise, who has proven to be quite a pain in my business affairs. I believe that, if certain terms are agreed, both problems can be solved with a single effort."  
Archer sighed above the general racquet of the lounge. He looked up at one of the three chandeliers, twinkling at him with its six tiny electric lights. The curling brass arms of the chandelier gleamed in the light and Archer wondered if he could shoot the thing down. If he succeeded it would crash into the table, giving him more than enough time to belt out of the lounge and head for the lifeboats. He wasn't actually going to do it, but Archer liked to think about how to "escape" out of certain situations, it was a part of what he did for a living.  
"I'll pay you what I owe," he told the boss, looking into his eyes without flinching, "and that'll be that problem out of the way for you, won't it? I've got the money. But the other problem's got nothing to do with me."  
The boss shrugged. "Well, I don't need your money, Mr. Archer. Look around. Everything you see here, the cards, the tables, the drinks, the glasses, the room, everything belongs to me. Even the gamblers in this lounge belong to me, to one degree or another, that's what I am. I'm a collector, if you like, of commodities. There's not one person in this room I invite out of the kindness of my heart, not a single one! Everyone here does things for me and I do things for them. You are no different, Mr. Archer. I will do something for you and you will do something for me, a service that will be mutually beneficial, I can assure you of that."  
"Whatever gave you the idea that I can perform a service to you?" Archer smiled, but the boss was no longer smiling.  
"Please, do not insult my intelligence again." The boss warned. "I have little patience left and these two boys here can give you a really hard time, if I want them to. Now pay attention to what I say. You owe me money, but it just so happens I do not want it. What I do want, however, is a certain air pirate dead. You're one of the best...ahem...workers on the market, so if you do me this one favour you can consider yourself free of any debt you owe me."  
Archer scratched his chin, considering what had just been said.  
"You may be happy to know this pirate is with the Blue Rogues that pass regularly through Nasrad." The boss continued. "He's quite popular with the local wildlife, you will not have any problems tracking him down. Killing him might prove to be, shall we say, difficult. The man has Lady Luck herself on his side and he's escaped from several prisons both in Nasr and Valua in the past. His criminal record is small-time. A thorn in the side, as you might say."  
"Wow." Archer made an act of being impressed. "All of that information. Did you forget his name while you were finding that stuff out?"  
"So you will settle the debt you owe me?" The boss asked, looking keenly into Archer's eyes.  
"On one condition."  
"And what's that?"  
"If I do this for you, I don't want to see your men near me for at least a full lunar cycle. I don't want any party invitations, no birthday gifts - nothing."  
The boss smiled and offered a wrinkled, but strong, hand. Archer took it and felt the man's grip pressing hard on his skin, like the boss' fingers were made of stone.  
"It is agreed." He said.  
"So, you going to tell me his name or do I have to guess it?"  
The boss shouted at one of the boy waiters to bring him a glass of loqua before turning his attention back to Archer.  
"His name is Gilder," the boss said, "just Gilder. He travels on a vessel called the Claudia and has a rather troublesome habit of attacking my cargo ships."  
"Your cargo ships are armed with ten inch cannon coils and sky torpedoes," Archer shrugged, "you should know better than to think the Blue Rogues wouldn't go for something like that."  
The boss smiled. "Well, it's either the Blue Rogues of the Black Pirates. I will take my chances with the Blue Rogues any day, only this one has made a fool out of me for the last time. When you do kill him, be sure to leave his remains for someone he cares about to find. An example has to be made, Mr. Archer. A man of your profession can surely understand that." 


	2. The Unfortunate Life of Ozillan the Nasr...

Chapter Two: The Unfortunate Life of Ozillan the Nasrad Merchant  
  
The shop in Nasrad was a small one. It sold medicines as a constant source of income, but also dealt in other things, some of which were weapons. The merchant of this store was Ozillan. And he was feeling a lot happier than usual, sitting behind the counter and smiling to himself.  
Ozillan looked at what was in his hands. He couldn't quite believe what his friend had given him. His eyes stared at the strange pieces of paper, unsure of whether he was dreaming or not. Upon the parchment was inscribed dozens of lines of Old World runes, most probably the Silvite holy language. But that wasn't the strange part. In Nasrad, pirates often sold off bits and pieces of encrypted ancient knowledge just to make a few gold coins. Ozillan had heard it all before. "This is from a temple in the desert, I heard from a caravan trader it was the beginning guide to Daccat's treasure. For you, my friend, I'll sell it for a thousand gold pieces." He had been fooled too many times with similar appraisals by those air pirates. Very rarely could any sense be made from those twisting runes, but upon the parchment someone had managed to scribble an incomplete primer. At least two dozen runes and their varying meanings were given, and this made Ozillan excited. He had never found something more comprehensive on the knowledge of the Ancients. Of course, this parchment couldn't have possibly survived the thousands of years in this pristine condition, no, not at all. It was clear from the state of the paper that someone had taken a piece of charcoal and made a rubbing from some ancient ruin, copying the exact shape of the runes without taking the trouble of trying to draw them. That must be the truth, Ozillan thought, for a lot of ruins had ancient inscriptions etched into their walls, did they not? There were rumours of a continent across South Ocean, where ancient buildings were in abundance, all of them adorned with such ancient scripture. The Silvites had been such a fascinating race and they held so much knowledge. Ozillan wondered if this primer in his hands were the first steps to unlocking that kind of power.  
All of his life Ozillan had been the guy who finished last. By the time he crossed the line, so to speak, the winners were enjoying the spoils of their victory and he was left with nothing to show for his efforts - and it wasn't as if Ozillan didn't try. All his life he had tried. As a child he had been around at the very worst time in Nasrean history, the time of the Valua-Nasr war. His father had been a brute of a soldier, patriotic, proud and a firm believer in demonstrating one's strengths. How disappointed he had been when Ozillan told him what he wanted to be at the age of eight.  
"I'd like to be a merchant, Dad." He had said, as his father was polishing his battle armour.  
"A merchant?" His father had laughed in that bellowing manner few men could mimic. "Don't be foolish, Ozillan, you need to be a bright lad to be a merchant, full of ideas. No son of mine could be that smart, don't con yourself into thinking you're better than me. Start training, I'll put some muscle on those skinny arms of yours. Get off your backside and go to work!"  
Ozillan had never been one to speak out against his elders, but he did defy his father by studying everything he could about the Nasrad economy. He quickly learned that ancient relics sold for a nice profit if you had the right buyer and that was when little Ozillan started to research the Silvites. He read every book he could lay his hands on, both Valuan and Nasrean. He listened to the rumours that passed through the dock as sailors exchanged their goods, rumours of ancient temples, weapons, even legends about the Five Giants that plagued the world before the moons put an end to their existence.  
By the time he was eighteen, Ozillan had opened his medicine shop in the middle of Nasrad and the profits started to rise. Everyone bought medicine, especially the air pirate types, but it wasn't enough for Ozillan to rise high in Nasr society. He had enough money to pay for the occasional artefact from an enterprising Blue Rogue named Guilder, but asides from that Ozillan's knowledge on the Old World was nearly useless. That was until today. Guilder, that brash young sailor, had come into his shop in the middle of the day. As much as Guilder had conned Ozillan from time to time, Ozillan liked him more than most people. He was pleasant company, always in a good mood and always happy to share the latest rumours surrounding the Valuans, ruins or anything at all.  
"Hey there, Ozillan," Guilder had flashed that playful little grin as he entered the store, dressed - as usual - in his armoured red coat and white gloves, "how's it going? Sorry I haven't been in Nasrad for a while, I got girl trouble." He winked. "You know how it is."  
"Oh, yes." Ozillan had replied amicably.  
The conversation had started well enough with small-talk. Gilder mentioned how he had been around the frontier lands a lot more lately.  
"The frontier lands?" Ozillan had asked, his thick eyebrows furrowed. "Why in the name of the moons would you want to go there!"  
"It was either that or facing that crazy woman..." the Blue Rogue muttered. "You remember the one that was in here with me a couple of lunar cycles ago?"  
"The one dressed in pink? She seemed nice, I liked her. I'm sorry, she told me, but I forgot her name...I'm sure I can remember."  
Gilder had given him a warning glance. "Careful, if you say it she'll come running through those doors and drag me back to her ship. Let's just say she's a bit...well, a bit on the clingy side." A brief silence passed between them, then Gilder brightened up. "Listen, I got something here for you. I snatched it off a ship a few days ago and thought about bringing it here for you to examine. Tell me what you think?"  
He had tossed Ozillan a few papers, all of them fastened together with a piece of string. The merchant had looked at them briefly before looking at Gilder disdainfully.  
"Come, Gilder, you might be able to trick me with the odd carved stone or two, but this is obviously not from the Old World."  
"I know." The Blue Rogue had replied. "It's nothing I want to sell you, it's something I want you to have a look at. You're pretty clever about all this ancient stuff, I thought you'd be able to tell me what it is."  
Ozillan had sighed to himself, but proceeded with the appraisal, flicking through the pages of notes and examining the runes. He took less than a minute to feel the adrenaline begin to flow through his veins. Gilder had adjusted his spectacles and peered at the writings, his brow creased in concentration, as if trying to see what the merchant had seen.  
"Guilder," Ozillan said quietly, "exactly where did you find this?"  
"A man aboard a ship me and my men raided had it, I told you." Guilder explained. "He seemed quite upset when I took it from him, gave me a look I won't be forgetting anytime soon. By the moons, I can still see it in my dreams." He shuddered. "Terrible. Not as bad as Clara, but still..."  
Ozillan looked up from examining the notes. "Who?"  
"Don't worry, no-one important. Hey, listen, do you mind if I slip out and drop be again tomorrow? My men need to unwind from all the sailing in the frontier lands and I'm going with them to the tavern near the docks."  
The merchant thought his dream had come true. "What? Oh...I mean, of course, Gilder. It's no trouble, you can come back tomorrow and I'll - "  
"- That's great, Ozillan. Hey, I got to run, got things to sort out aboard the Claudia before I can let my men blow off steam. See you."  
And with that he was gone. That had been four hours ago.  
Now Ozillan held the papers in his hands and he sat at the counter, having closed the store two hours ago. He read through the pages, jotting down what he could translate using a combination of his own general knowledge on the Silvite's language and the primer. After an hour's work, the task was almost done. He set the quill pen back in the inkpot and started to re-read what he had written.  
"'And from the worst of the worst powers came the ability to distil moonstone energy into new forms. As the keepers of life and death, we, the Silvites have sworn to seal away that which cannot be allowed to rise again.  
"'The only moonstone weapon we were not able to contain rests at the heart of the continent under the yellow moon.' " He squinted at his writing, remembering that passage he was unable to translate. "'Firkor remdess terroidi...Many horrific powers and was the cause of the preceding wars after Yelligar was defeated. Men sought for this weapon for centuries after, even after the rains fell, and we have hidden it so that it might never be found again. To cast it into Deep Sky was too great a risk, for what effect would it have upon the creatures down there we were never certain. It is located - ' "  
There was a knock at the door. Ozillan looked up, irritated that someone had disturbed him at this hour after closing time. Shoving his translation under the counter, he folded up the stolen parchments and went to the door. He looked through the peephole, but to no avail. His outside light had been blown out by the wind again, of all the things that could cause an inconvenience!  
He opened the door. "Sorry, we're - "  
The pistol shot reverberated around all of Nasrad. The last thing the merchant Ozillan thought of was an image of his late father, standing over him and shaking his head sadly. He pictured himself joining his father in the afterlife, or whatever it was that awaited him, the two of them together once more. And his father said, "You see? I told you that you weren't smart enough to survive in this business. You should have become a soldier, then at least your death would have served a cause." 


End file.
